Earth Lessons
by the-nerd-word
Summary: Abel discovers he has a lot to teach Cain on Earth; Cain discovers what he does and does not like about swimming, horses, bikes and many other challenges.
1. Chapter 1

"It's cold!"

"Quit griping. You're only ankle deep."

"Still cold."

"Just- c'mon. Get in the water."

"Who's idea was this anyway?"

"_Yours_. Now come on."

Cain snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring as if Abel and the water had done him a personal wrong. He kicked one foot, grumpily satisfied by the splash, then firmly re-planted both feet. Save for his toes, which wiggled on the bottom of the tanning pool, he refused to budge. "This is a stupid idea."

"What?" Abel asked with a curious tilt of his head. "Swimming? Or the pool?"

"Both," Cain grunted.

Abel held back a sigh, reminding himself to be patient. He knew Cain had grown up on one of the space colonies, which didn't have the luxury of affording large amounts of water to swimming pools. Cain had been both openly amazed and unnerved by his first unclose view of the ocean, but as awed as he had been while watching, he had stayed well away from the tide. Even though Cain would never admit it, Abel knew he was probably scared of the water. After all, he couldn't swim, had never had the chance to learn.

So now they were at the private pool owned by Abel's parents, enjoying the sun, the classic rock playing on the radio and with any luck, they'd actually get to enjoy the water.

"Just wade out slowly," Abel advised calmly. "It's shallow enough to stand right here."

Cain looked doubtful, curling his upper lip. "What's the big deal anyway? I get in, splash around, and I'm supposed to have fun doing that?"

"Cain… Could you just try?" Abel asked quietly, a little disappointed.

Cain scowled and looked away, rolling his shoulders awkwardly under the pressure. Finally, mumbling profanities under his breath to work up some courage, he stepped further into the water. He stopped when he was waist deep, slightly wide-eyed and looking like he wanted to bolt. When he caught Abel staring with a barely restrained smile, he gave his best glare. "Happy now?"

Like a parent guiding a learning toddler, Abel kicked backward into the deeper part of the pool, legs moving smoothly to keep him floating in place. "You're doing great!" he encouraged with a smile. "Make your way toward me if you can. Don't fight the water, calmly paddle yourself through it."

Cain scoffed, puffing how his chest for a macho act or because of the cold, Abel was sure which. "'If I can'," Cain repeated sarcastically, but he moved forward with suspicion. When the water reached his chin and he began to lose his footing, panic flickered across his features, and he jerked backward with a splash.

"Easy!" Abel called. "You got this. Kick your legs back and forth underneath you, almost like you're riding a bike." Belatedly, Abel realized that it was possible Cain had never ridden a bike either, so he guiltily amended, "Rhythmically paddle with your feet, it'll keep you upright."

Cain was wide-eyed, and his jaw was locked tightly as proof of his nervousness, but he managed to awkwardly kick at the water and stay afloat.

"Great!" Abel complimented, motioning Cain forward by gently splashing the water with his hands.

"I feel like an idiot," Cain griped, his breaths quick. "A drowning one."

Abel laughed. "Nope, you're swimming. Now see if you can come here."

"_How_?"

"Use your arms. Like this." Abel demonstrating, broad-stroking briefly through the water. "Imagine you're, um…"

"Punching Praxis."

"…Sure, okay. Punching Praxis."

Looking pleased with himself, Cain messily splashed his way through the water, gaining some distance from the wall. By the time he made it to Abel, he was breathing hard and looking grimly accomplished.

Abel smiled playfully, wrapping his arms around Cain's waist without applying any weight. "So proud," he murmured, his breath ghosting air on Cain's ear before he leaned in for a teasing kiss, one hand moving to elastic of Cain's blue swim trunks. "I think I know the perfect reward."

"Nope," Cain said, shaking his head and tearing himself away from Abel. "Nope, nope, nope."

"W-what?" Abel asked, entirely confused. "Cain, what're you-"

"Nope. I'm out. Can't do this anymore. This is wrong. Not a fish," he explained choppily, almost desperately, as he started assaulting the water again in an effort to get back to the shallow end.

Abel didn't know whether to laugh or be concerned. Instead, he winced over Cain's swimming abilities. "Remember to be smooth! Remember Praxis! Praxis!" he shouted.

Cain somehow managed to get to the edge without any more mumbled obscenities, and he hauled himself out onto the tiles. Laying back on his lone wolf embellished towel, he put an arm over his eyes. "I miss space," he complained. "Space wasn't wet, space wasn't tiring, and space didn't make my girlfriend look like a shriveled prune."

"…Did you just call me a prune?"

"You've seriously been in there for too long, get out."


	2. Horses

Notes:

I tried to keep things pretty simple for non-horse people, but here are a few explanations in case you're confused! Sixteen-two: horses are measured in "hands," or four-inch marks. Basically, a sixteen-two hand horse is big.  
Mare: adult female horse  
Gelding: adult neutered male horse  
Canter: English term for run, not a sprint. I myself prefer Western, though I ride English, so no prejudices to either one here.

* * *

When they entered the freshly swept barn, Cain told himself it couldn't be that bad. Sure, it smelled, and the chickens lining the edge of the hay loft were shooting him suspicious glances, but animals were animals, and there was no way some grass-eating giraffe wannabe was going to get the best of him.

Then Abel, halter in hand, opened the first stall door. "Cain, I want you to meet Esprit," he said with a smile, standing beside a black, sixteen-two mare with a long mane and four white socks.

Cain stopped at the stall door, staring uneasily but trying to work up a scowl. "_That_ is not a pony. That is a- a thing. A _big_ thing."

Abel blinked and looked back. "Of course she's not a pony. She's a shire-quarter horse mix," he explained, slipping the red halter around the mare's head.

Cain worked his mouth a bit, eyes narrowed. "A what? What does that even mean? And why am I getting stuck with a girl?"

Abel sighed. "It means she's big, yes, but she has a great personality, and she's patient with new riders. And there's nothing wrong with mares." He patted Esprit on the neck, still standing in the stall. "Do you want to say hello?"

"There's shit in there. There is _literally_ shit in there." Cain crossed his arms and stepped back. "No, I don't."

Abel closed his eyes briefly before sighing and leading Esprit out. He tied the lead rope to the stall bars before grabbing a tack bucket, talking as he worked. "Okay, lesson number one; you never need to fear horses, but you should always have respect for them; respect for their size, their strength, and their unpredictability. They're not malicious animals, but you can get hurt if you're not careful." He looked up, and when Cain nodded, arms still crossed and looking more uncertain, Abel offered a gentle smile. "Here," he said, offering a brush. "You should always brush before riding, get rid of any dirt and such."

Cain took the brush and stepped up to Esprit, raising one cautious hand to her shoulder. "I just- brush?"

"Yeah, in the direction of the hair."

Cain ran the bristles across Esprit's thick neck and shoulder, watching as small puffs of dust left her dark coat. As he brushed, she twisted one ear and turned her head to watch Cain, brown eyes curious. "What?" he asked brusquely, staring her down as he kept brushing. When she continued to stare, Cain cautiously stuck a hand toward her face, and when she lipped his fingers, he smiled. "Like a big, ugly dog," he remarked. "What're you- ow!" he jerked his hand away before quickly popping her on the nose. "Bitch! She bit me."

"Don't hit her," Abel admonished him. "You shouldn't stick your fingers by her mouth."

Cain glared. "Oh, so this is my fault?" He rubbed his fingers and gave Esprit a dirty look, which she acknowledged through pinned ears.

"How about you two start over? Brush her other side," Abel suggested, sighing a little. When Cain began to walk behind her, Abel tugged his arm. "Oh, wait. You shouldn't walk behind her like that. She could kick. Best to walk a few feet away."

Cain looked almost disbelieving. "She kicks too? I thought you said she was friendly!"

"She is, I promise. And I'm not saying that she will kick, only that she could. It's like… Horses are very nervous animals, it's in their genetics. So say one of the chickens jumped down from the hay loft; she could get startled and kick, without really intending on kicking you. Make sense?"

Cain's disbelieving look only grew worse. "So they're dangerous _and_ retarded?"

Abel rolled his eyes and shook his head. "_No_, Cain, and don't say that. Just brush."

"Whatever," he grumbled, moving to the other side.

While Cain worked, Abel went to another stall and retrieved another horse, a bay thoroughbred with a quick, eager step. Abel tied him off next to Esprit and inspected Cain's work. "Great," he said. "Now you need to pick her hooves… On second thought, I'll take care of that."

Cain shrugged, having no idea what "picking hooves" entailed, but he was fine with leaving Abel to deal with these long-faced freaks. "What's that one's name?" he asked, pointing to the bay.

Abel lifted one of Esprit's front legs. "Combat," he replied.

Cain smirked. "Indicative of her personality?"

Abel laughed as he finished the first hoof. "Yeah, and Combat's a he."

Cain frowned and leaned over, looking under. "Damn," he whistled. "That is impressive."

Abel paused as he picked up Esprit's back foot. "Cain, please don't get weird."

"Right."

After both horses were groomed, Abel hoisted a saddle and blanket on Esprit's back. Cain, who had begun hedging bets on which chicken had nearly pooped on his head, nearly choked when he looked over. "Whoa, stop. What is that?"

"The girth strap?" Abel asked, said strap in hand.

"No," Cain answered, "_that_. On her back. That's not a saddle."

Abel fought a smile, trying to take Cain seriously. "Yes, it is."

"Don't lie to me. I've seen cowboy movies. A saddle has lots of sexy leather and buckles and a knob at the front."

Abel laughed, cheeks slightly pink. "Um, that's a Western saddle. This is an English saddle. I'll be riding with the same."

Cain looked at the saddle with suspicion. "That's not much," he said at last. "Doesn't look very sturdy."

"You're not going to be gallivanting into war, silly. You'll be following me, and we'll walk."

Cain snorted, crossing his arms again and giving the saddle another glance. "Gallivant… you… can't believe…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

After both horses were fully tacked and ready, Abel stood to one side of Esprit and pointed to the stirrups. "Okay, time to mount. Left foot there."

"Mount?" Cain grinned. "It's called mounting?"

"Um, yeah. Don't make this weird. You said you wouldn't."

Still grinning, Cain only nodded and lifted his left foot to the stirrup. Following Abel's instructions, he swung up and sat back in the saddle. "Now what?"

"Now just hold on to the reins while I get on Combat. Remember, never let go of the reins; they're your tool for control besides your weight and your legs."

As Abel mounted his own gelding, Cain leaned forward to peer into Esprit's right eye. "I don't like this idea any more than you probably like hauling my ass around. So just- don't go crazy." He gave her an awkward pat on the neck, hoping the horse gods had heard and would respect his desire to live.

Seated and looking comfortable, Abel nudged Combat forward. "You look great! Just relax and remember- kicking or applying pressure with your legs will make her go faster. Pulling back will make her slow or stop."

"Simple enough," Cain replied, looking down at the reins in his hands.

Abel nodded. "There's a lot more to it than that, but we'll stick with the basics for now. Okay, follow me!" He leg yielded around Esprit and sent Combat on, glancing over his shoulder to watch Cain, who gave a little kick to Esprit's side. When the mare started forward, he gave a full, happy smile.

However, after only a few feet, Esprit stopped. Cain kicked her a second time, and once again she took a few steps before slowing to a halt. "What's up with her?" he asked with a frown.

Abel circled back around with Combat. "You're sitting too heavily. You have to move in motion with the horse, keep rhythm," he explained. "Especially with her. Better too slow than too fast for beginners."

Cain only scowled. "What do you mean, rhythm?"

"Like this," Abel said, clicking his tongue to get Combat to walk, then rocking his hips forward as the horse moved.

Cain stared incredulously before laughing. "You're shitting me, right? It looks like your fucking the saddle. And you don't want me to be weird about this?" He laughed again, which made Esprit pin her ears.

Abel felt himself blush, but he just shrugged. "Yeah, it's how you're supposed to ride though."

"Should've just said so, princess." Cain nudged Esprit to walk again, this time thrusting his hips. "Fucking's easy."

Abel shook his head but didn't say anything to that, walking Combat ahead, who pulled at the bridle in his eagerness to speed up.

Cain watched with curiosity, appreciating the way Abel's ass sat in the saddle, the way his hips gently rocked and his posture stayed straight. It was a nice view, but then his attention was drawn to Combat, and he looked from one horse to the other as he compared the two. "You know," he said to Esprit, finally starting to relax in the saddle. "You're much more badass than he is." Esprit snorted, and Cain pretended it was in agreement rather than from the dust she had kicked up.

When Abel got too far ahead, he pulled Combat to a halt and smiled patiently, watching as Cain maneuvered his mare forward. Then, like watching a car accident in slow motion, Abel saw it; the sudden smirk on his mouth, the eager light in his eyes, the way he tightened his legs and hunched his shoulders. And then, the cliché; the old Western "yee-haw" and snap of reins that sent Esprit flying. "Cain, no!"

But it was too late, and Esprit sprinted well past Abel and Combat, nose out and tail streaming.

Cain let out a victorious whoop before he realized they were nearing the fence. "Okay, pull back means slow down. Slow down. Slow down!" he yelled, yanking on the reins as hard as he could, but squeezing with his legs as he tried to keep his balance, Esprit's eyes wide as she barreled toward the fence with mixed signals.

Finally, being the horse that she was, she dropped her hindquarters and came to an abrupt stop in front of the fence, causing Cain to lose his seat and topple over her head. He landed on his back with a distinct _oomph_, which earned a curious ear twitch from his mare before she proceeded to graze indifferently.

Abel cantered over and dismounted quickly, looking alarmed. "Cain! Oh my God, are you okay?" He knelt beside him, gingerly lifting Cain up to a sitting position. "Are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"That…"

"Yeah?"

Cain sat up and coughed, sucking in a shaky breath before laughing. "That was the best! Did you see? Did you fucking see? We were flying! Holy shit! That was a rush."

Abel let out a relieved chuckle. "Well, I'm glad you're okay. But maybe we'll work up to that in the future."

"I love horses," Cain gasped with a grin, still trying to catch his breath.

"I'm glad. Because now we need to catch ours," Abel said, watching as Esprit and Combat trotted away toward higher grass.

"I do," Cain assured him.

Abel patted him on the shoulder. "Okay."


End file.
